


What Remains Unspoken

by Blue_Night



Series: What Happens [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Established Relationship, Fear, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Content, Silence, angst with a dubious ending, doubts, shadows of the past, unspoken feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/pseuds/Blue_Night
Summary: Sequel to 'What Lies Beneath'.Thomas is still having a hard time and finds himself sitting on the bench far too often, and he's happy to get a day off and spend it together with Robert. But Robert already promised Marco to spend his next day off together with him in Dortmund, and he won't break the promises he gave, so Thomas has to spend the day alone...





	What Remains Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janie94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janie94/gifts).



> For my dear sister in crime. <33
> 
> You asked for a sequel to _'What Lies Beneath'_ , my dear, but I don't think that this is what you had in mind when you did.  
> Be careful what you wish for, it might actually come true... ;-P
> 
> *Tiptoes hastily out of the room.*

They're getting an unexpected day off after their last victory, a victory that was really hard work and not the least beautiful, but which they needed badly for their self-esteem.

Thomas is making plans for their day off on their way home, suggesting dinner in their favorite restaurant and maybe watching a movie in the cinema afterwards. He really needs to take his thoughts off his new role in their squad for a while, which consists of sitting on the bench so often again, even though he's finally allowed to play again, and he's almost rubbing his hands in anticipation. It takes him some time to notice that Robert is quiet and hardly looking at him, focusing on the street in front of him with a strange expression on his face.

“What's wrong, Lewy?” Thomas forces himself to ask, although he actually doesn't want to know the answer to his question.

“'m sorry, but I need to go to bed early tonight. I promised Marco to visit him on my next day off, and I have to leave Munich very early,” Robert says after a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Thomas turns his head to look out of the side window, gritting his teeth not to let the harsh answer slip that is tickling on his tongue.

“I see. It's take away then, I guess.”

They remain silent for the rest of the drive, so many unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Thomas orders Chinese take away while Robert is taking another shower when they come home, and they eat in silence, watching a stupid quiz show on TV, glad that they don't have to talk to each other this way.

It's barely nine when Robert finally turns his head to look at him, and Thomas gazes back, schooling his features into a mask of calm impassiveness. “Marco's having a hard time at the moment, Tommy,” the dark-haired striker says, begging Thomas for understanding with his eyes. “You don't expect me to break my promise, do you?” He leans in to kiss him, but Thomas turns his head to the side, and Robert's lips only brush over his cheek.

The younger one isn't sure that he understands why Marco is having a hard time, because Robert hardly ever tells him about the things he's talking about with his former boyfriend. He always leaves the room when his phone rings and Marco is on the line, and Thomas never asks him about the blond Dortmunder, trying to ignore that he's still such an important part of Robert's life. Everything inside him screams that he's having a hard time himself at the moment, probably even more than Marco is doing - who's playing and winning with his team as their captain, praised by the press and everybody else, while all he's getting is criticism and bad judgment.

Robert is his boyfriend, so why the heck do Marco's problems and well-being mean so much more to him? Why can't he see that Thomas needs him just as much as Marco claims to need him – that he needs his reassurance and comfort so badly? Robert mostly remains silent these days, not talking much, and never asking how Thomas feels and what he himself could do to make his boyfriend feel better.

“No, of course not. You're always taking your promises very seriously, Robert,” he says after a minute or so, swallowing down again the second part of what he wants to throw at the older one so badly. Robert has hardly ever promised anything to him, and it's obvious to Thomas that the promises he gave Marco will always count so much more to Robert than those few he would perhaps give Thomas anyway.

“Thank you, I'm glad that you understand, Tommy,” Robert gives back after another uncomfortable pause, slowly rising to his feet. “I'm going to bed, I want to leave Munich early to avoid traffic jams.” He hesitates when Thomas stays where he's seated on the other side of the couch. “You coming?” he asks, his voice surprising small and with the tiniest hint of hope that Thomas will come with him and hold him while he sleeps.

“Later. It's too early for me, sorry, Lewy,” Thomas apologizes without really being sorry at all. He feels betrayed because he'd really hoped for a nice evening, just the two of them, going out for dinner, watching a movie sitting in the last row of the cinema and holding hands - and maybe having passionate sex afterwards. Plus, he was so looking forward to having an entire day together with Robert after the coach's unexpected announcement, and he's just so disappointed and choking on his helpless anger now because he's actually dreading the next day; and Thomas is absolutely not in the mood to ease Robert's conscience and pretend that everything's fine between them.

“Yeah, of course.” Robert slowly turns around, apparently still hoping that Thomas will join him, but the younger one stubbornly stares at the TV screen as if the quiz show was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, his arms wrapped around his midsection because the delicious Chinese food suddenly threatens to make a reappearance.

“Good night then, Tommy. I'll try not to disturb you when I get up,” Robert murmurs to the wall, and Thomas listens to his heavy footsteps on the staircase with burning eyes and acid in his throat.

 

***

 

Thomas doesn't know how long he's sitting there and staring at the TV without really seeing anything, and he can't bring himself to go upstairs and sleep next to Robert. He takes the light woolen blanket Robert keeps on his sofa when the show is over, curling himself up on the couch with one of the small and rather hard pillows under his head instead of Robert's warm and fragrant shoulder.

He can see the shadow of Marco's face everywhere in the darkness of the living room, even when he closes his eyes, and he's still awake when he hears Robert getting up again around three o'clock in the morning, coming downstairs after rummaging in the drawers and his wardrobe for a few minutes.

Thomas feigns sleep, hoping that Robert won't sense that he's still awake. He wills himself to lie completely still and suppress the cold shivers that capture his body, and he unconsciously holds his breath when Robert stops on the last stair and he can feel his blue eyes on his face.

The dark-haired striker pauses before he quietly crosses the room to stand before the couch, looking down at Thomas for a couple of seconds. Robert's body heat seeps through the thin blanket when he bends down to press a feather-light kiss onto Thomas' forehead.

“Sleep well, tiger. Love you.” Robert's voice is barely more than an inaudible whisper, and Thomas suddenly wants to cry when he hears the tenderness and regret in the few words. There are so many unspoken words between them, and Robert hardly ever tells him that he loves him. That he's doing that now – telling him that he loves him because he's thinking that Thomas is asleep and can't hear him – almost hurts more than Robert remaining silent about his feelings for him ever did.

Robert is gone before Thomas has the chance to make up his mind and admit that he's not sleeping though, and he listens to the sound of the closing front door with a huge lump in his throat and his hands balled to tight fists under the blanket.

 

***

 

He must have fallen asleep some time after Robert's departure, and it's already late when he wakes up again with a bad headache throbbing behind his temples and a horrible taste in his mouth.

Thomas gets up from to couch to bring Robert's living room back in order, heaving a dry retch when the smell of the now cold leftovers of the Chinese food penetrate his nose. He hurries to throw the boxes into the kitchen trash bin and carefully folds the blanket again, wiping the coffee table clean and filling the dishwater machine with the glasses they have used. He takes his phone from the counter top to push it into his pocket without looking at it, grateful that he'd switched it off last night. He doesn't want to know whether or not Robert has already arrived in Dortmund, and he's not in the state to face questions about his day and how he will spend it. There are only very few people knowing about him and Robert, and he simply can't talk to any of them right now.

He quits breakfast because he's really not hungry, but he makes himself some coffee, sipping from the hot and bitter brew leaned against Robert's kitchen counter. The silence and emptiness in the house seem to suffocate him, and he puts the empty mug into the machine as well, leaving the empty house and carefully locking the front door.

His car is parked outside the property, and Thomas is grateful that he doesn't meet anyone on his way to his vehicle. The drive back to his own house is short and yet seems to take ages, and he feels exhausted and drained when he enters his house, walking upstairs to his own bedroom like a sleepwalker. He strips out of his jeans and his sweater and crawls under the covers that are still faintly emanating Robert's scent from the last time he stayed overnight, and Thomas buries his nose in the pillow the dark-haired striker normally uses, falling asleep wrapped in Robert's beloved and familiar scent.

 

***

 

Thomas wakes up two hours later, and the warmth of his bed and Robert's scent in his nose have an unexpected and unwanted side effect.

He lies on his back with closed eyes for a few minutes, but the hardness in his briefs doesn't go away, and he finally pushes his hand into them with a defeated hiss. He moves his hand up and down on his hard dick, but it's too dry and actually starts to hurt, and Thomas stops with an angry sigh, grateful when his cock is finally cooperating and softens at least partly again after another minute. He feels a little bit sore and tender after his failed attempt to jerk off, but he ignores the slight discomfort between his legs when he struggles into a sitting position and rubs his face with both hands, smelling himself on his fingers as he does. His stomach lurches, and he takes only shallow breaths, waiting for his stomach to calm down again without moving.

The ringing of the door bell startles him, and Thomas freezes in place, hoping that the unknown visitor will leave again when he doesn't react.

They don't, and after a minute or so, his landline starts to ring as well, showing Manuel's ID on the display.

Thomas picks it up with a sigh. “Will you go away if I pretend that I'm not at home?” he asks, and Manuel's chuckle coming through the speaker sounds a little bit distorted when he says: “Nope, no chance, Mülli. I've brought bread rolls and pretzels, I think that I'm right guessing that you didn't have breakfast so far?”

Manu just knows him too well.

“Give me a minute,” Thomas sighs, but he's actually grateful that he doesn't have to spend the entire day alone.

Manuel is patiently waiting for the door to open leaned against the door frame when Thomas comes downstairs, and he regards him thoughtfully from under his thick lashes when he steps inside the hallway.

“You look like shit,” he observes dryly instead of a greeting, and Thomas pulls a face. “Wow thank you so much. I wish you a nice day as well, Caps.”

Manuel ignores his glare and makes his way to Thomas' kitchen. “I didn't come here to make you compliments or sweet talk to you, Thomas.” Thomas watches him busying himself with making a late brunch for both of them, and Manuel only shakes his head when he tries to be helpful.

“Sit down, I don't want you to burn or cut yourself in your state.”

Thomas slumps down on the chair where Robert is normally sitting, because as much as he likes Manuel, but he just can't let him sit down on the chair that is still Robert's.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee revives some of his spirits, and he takes one of the bread rolls to smear a generous amount of strawberry jam onto it when Manuel pushes the plate in his direction with a raised eyebrow.

“What's going on lately, Tommy?” the taller one watches him chew on his bite before helping himself to a pretzel with butter. “I know that it's not only because you're sitting on the bench far too often. What's wrong between Lewy and you?”

So much to Manuel perhaps showing some mercy and beating around the bush for a bit to give his friend some more time to come up with some excuses and meaningless phrases of reassurance that everything's perfect between Robert and him.

“He promised Marco to visit him on his next free day because he's having such a hard time,” Thomas hears himself burst out, staring down at his plate, and it is actually a relief to have someone who is willing to listen to him.

Who cares enough about him to spend his free day with him instead of insisting that others would need them more than Thomas does.

“I see. Yes, it must be hard for Marco. Everybody seems to leave him. Mario left him, then Robert,” Manuel muses, “someone I don't even want to mention left him in a really awful way not so long ago, and he also lost his captain and friend when Mats came to us.”

“He didn't lose them, they are still his friends – except for said someone perhaps. Mario came back, and Robert hurries to drive hundreds of kilometers if Marco merely snaps his fingers.” Thomas is not in the mood to be generous and understand Marco's situation.

“Mario came back to Dortmund, not to Marco, and you know that, Thomas. There was too much damaged between them that they could ever go back to what they had before Mario left. Plus, he has lost another close friend in Nuri a few weeks ago, one of his longest teammates, and you know how it goes. The distance might be not that big, but it's not the same as playing in the same club actually is.” He pauses for a split second before he adds quietly:

“I would be heartbroken if you left the FCB, Tommy.”

Thomas snorts, but Manuel looks so serious, and he bites his lip and blushes, pushing the bread roll from one side to the other.

“That's the life of a footballer,” he mutters, but it sounds not really convincing.

“Yes, it is. But that doesn't mean that it can't hurt losing friends and teammates. You know how close Marco and Erik were – how much Erik meant to him. How much he must still mean to him. They can hardly see each other, and Erik didn't want to leave Dortmund. If I had to guess, then I would say that this was making it even harder for both of them.”

There is a long pause, and Thomas takes his mug to busy his hands while he's thinking about Manuel's words. He almost burns his tongue, but the pain distracts him from the ache in his chest, in his stomach and in his groin.

“I get what you're trying to say, but Marco has other friends living close by he can talk to. Why does it have to be Robert – just when I would need him so much too!”

Manuel purses his lips, taking a bite from his pretzel. “It's difficult for outsiders to understand, I think. Robert knows Marco, and he knows the situation he's in. They are still close friends, Thomas. He's actually the best to console Marco when he needs someone he can talk to openly.”

“Yes, I know.”

More than just friends probably.

Thomas can see the blond's shadow again, darkening the actually bright and sunny day and making him feel cold inside. If Robert would only talk to him more, if he wouldn't leave so many things unspoken between them.

If he would only tell him that he loves him when Thomas is awake.

“Robert loves you, Tommy, he really does. That's clear to see every time he looks at you when he thinks that nobody will notice.” Manuel sounds understanding and sure of what he's saying, and Thomas truly wished that he could believe his words, because he can't see in Robert's eyes what Manuel is seeing there.

“It's just hard for me too, Manu,” he mumbles, and Manuel reaches out to gently cup his hand and squeeze his cold fingers. “I know, Tommy. That's why I'm here so you're having someone to talk to as well.”

“Thank you, Caps.” It's good to know that he still has friends among his teammates, friends who really care about him instead of grinning secretly about the sad truth that he has to warm the bench while they're playing.

“That's what friends are for, Thomas,” Manuel simply says, and Thomas thinks that he should try and understand why Robert drove all the way to Dortmund for just one day to console Marco and listen to him, but it's not so easy with so many unspoken things standing between them, so many hurt feelings neither of them dares to say out loud.

Thomas of course knows that Robert hasn't been happy in Munich over the last season either, that he wanted to leave and that the disastrous world cup is still in Robert's mind just as much as Thomas is still not over it. Maybe Robert feels as angry and hurt as he does because Thomas didn't listen to him either, too busied with his own misery. Maybe that's the reason why Robert stopped talking to him a while ago, why he rather wants to spend his free day in Marco's company than be together with his boyfriend, Thomas thinks, relaxing a little bit.

Manuel gives him the time he needs to come to terms with what he has told him, watching him silently and patiently. When Thomas looks up again, he smiles at him, and Thomas weakly smiles back.

“Eat your bread roll, Thomas Müller. Starving yourself is not an option,” his friend orders him, and Thomas rolls his eyes but starts to eat, glad that Manuel is there to fill the silence and the emptiness in his heart for a while.

 

***

 

Manuel stays until the shadows outside become longer, and Thomas waves gratefully goodbye at him before he closes the door again, musing briefly about switching his phone on but finally decides against it. He doesn't want to stare at the screen and break his head about the short messages Robert might have left him, and he's not really keen to talk to the man who means more to him than even football does on the phone without being able to see his face.

He feels a little bit better after Manuel's visit, and he goes upstairs again to take a shower. The ache in his chest and his stomach has faded a little bit, but the ache in his groin is still palpable, and he misses Robert so damn much that he can't think of anything else other than how Robert hands and lips feel on his body, how it feels when Robert is buried deep inside him.

Thomas leans against the bathroom tiles and closes his eyes, the stream of warm water cascading over his head and his back. He balls his hands to tight fists at his side, but the throbbing in his groin becomes stronger, and he knows that he will lose this fight in the end. He takes himself in hand and starts to stroke his dick to full hardness, the warm water making it easy for him this time.

He expects that he'll need longer than usual to get himself off, and he's surprised when the heat of his approaching orgasm builds quickly at the end of his spine, spreading out into his abdomen. He tries to keep his mind blank but fails, and he comes to the image of Marco and Robert lying naked and with entangled limbs on Marco's bed, the blond's shadow hovering somewhere over the shower head and staring down at him with a malicious grin on his invisible face.

Thomas opens his eyes to watch himself shooting against the acrylic glass of the shower cubicle with Robert's name on his lips, and his release is short and shallow, satisfying his body for a few hours, but leaving his heart empty and hurting and his thoughts racing.

It's completely dark outside when he's dry and dressed again, thinking that this day was actually for the waste and a day he simply wants to end and to forget. Thomas wanders through his empty and dark house for some time, trying to ignore Marco's shadow that seems to follow him everywhere, silent and threatening like only shadows can be.

He doesn't know if Robert is on his way home already, and he doesn't know whether or not the dark-haired striker is missing him as much as Thomas is actually missing him. He muses about watching something on TV, but he's too tired and not really in the mood for anything, so he simply brushes his teeth and goes to bed.

He stares at his phone lying on the nightstand for some time and finally switches it on, but he doesn't look at the screen and switches the tone off in order not to hear it beeping in case that someone wants to send him a message.

In case that Robert wants to send him a message. Thomas doesn't think this to be likely, and he doesn't want to lie there and wait for the beeps that will probably never come. His throat feels tight, too tight to speak, too tight to swallow, too tight to breathe; and Thomas turns his phone around until it's lying on its screen and hides his face in his pillow afterwards, fighting against the tears that want to fall.

He falls asleep with Robert's scent in his nose and the memory of his arms wrapped around him in his mind, Marco's silent shadow staring down at him from the dark-gray ceiling.

This time it doesn't take long until the slumber of exhaustion claims him and another nightmare about Robert lying in Marco's arms is haunting him in his fitful sleep again.

His phone starts to vibrate on the nightstand, the screen lightening up against the wooden top with an incoming call, but no one's there to pick it up, and it goes dark again after a minute or so when the caller finally gives up and ends the unanswered call.

**Author's Note:**

> I could perhaps be bribed to write another sequel much more to your liking if you ask me really nicely, my dear Queen of Drama! ;-*  
> (But I want something in return as a reward of course!)  
> *whistles innocently.*


End file.
